Imperium Damnatum

To my old homeland I return again enshrouded by autumnal fragrance. Blood trickling down from bleaking woods to the drenched soil - squandered - and seeps away. On the field through accomplished cruelty an eminence grise strides, scattering ash on fallen heroes. Is he the spirit of forgotten ancestors which takes charge of a conquered land? Is it in his mind to end up destruction which dominated the last centuries? He should be the comrade of our blood enforced with honor and strength of old days. He wields his ceptre, ash eclipses sunset and commands silence over this decease. It makes me shudder in consideration of this deed of the source of all fullfillment. I retreat and bow down in reverence for the new sovereign.

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 26, 2025

When the fog of ash splits open, a cold glancing moon glazes the land. And his pale light gazes after nocturnal storms which clear the sky. And within remains descent which are consigned to oblivion, a long shadow accedes the throne, exalted by the howling horde. Craving blazing torches are yearning for his silhouette during he turns around to expound the grave decrees. Emptiness vanishes from his sight. Instead of this a malevolent sparkling engulfs his gaze. Our enemy has inflicted great losses in the devastating slaughter of last night. We cannot accept this disgraceful defeat and would strike back entirely even before sundawn. Convoke all warriors and let them swear the oath of allegiance and require their brave. Traitors of our banner should be executed. That's for disobeying the supreme court of justice. Seething with rage the horde swarms out to efface the dynasty of this offenders.

Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 26, 2025

Rain pours down on everglades to engulf the rememberance of a past era like a shroud embeds the stagnation. From severe wounds blood gushes forth to get white-washed in the rising seas of untarnished requital. To relinquish intentions of the renegades is its uppermost command to be enforced. Elgies are droning through deepest dungeons to die away unheard on decayed walls which are stained by rotten entrails, taunting the creatures in their despair. Wolves and rats are gutting their effete corpses. Worms are devouring flesh and desiccated skin. Those who will survive the bestial torture are doomed to serve in everlasting slavery to obey the dominance of the divine right of kings. Doomed to slavery! Serve in slavery! Obery me!

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 26, 2025

I am gasping and panting in dank clouds of smoke. My neck is enclosed by a collar of steel as my feet and hands chained up to the ruins of this doleful sepulchre. Numb with grief a final yell suffocates in a seared throat and flagging limbs are hanging maltreated in chains. A dozing redeeming salaciousness pounces on me and tempts me not to endure this slavery for longer. My blinded eyes will behold the sun nevermore. My once incisive scent wouldn't feast on winter air. My pale tattered lips would remain silence, when the blather is spoken by fatuous ones. In my mind, through my head, thoughts are hunting me. In my soul, in my heart, embers engenders a longed for, ever suspected awakening will to fight. On a stone in the wall, there are engraved dozens of hateful words - spurred by odium - etching an evident determination in my strait, resurrecting, gleaming pupils. Tearing on the chains of my confinement I declare - inflated with self-confidence - to incite all prisoners to a rebellion to disentangle them from this doom. Now it should be done. All pain should elapse.

Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 26, 2025

Those who succeeded in abscondence, regather now in secret vaults. To conjure this new revolt, they defile the holy shrine. Burning down the elder treasures would help them to forget. Only in their nightmares, they will be reminded of their atrocious past in sovereign contempt. Perhaps this was all on purpose to form the best combatants - the unconquerable army. Rearmed and steeled they march up to the once lost soil to fetch back what should belong to them. All over the years they had this dream to re-enter their promised land which was trespassed and occupied. Finally they are guided and hailed as heroes - on the inflammatory march.

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 26, 2025

Emblazoned by thorns I scorn in the sun, impaled by a miscreant folk on the pillory of derisiveness. Their derision clangs in my ears like the bell which tolls for my execution. Their incomparable hypocrisy whips my senses, when they acclaim me like a martyr. The insight overtakes me that I waste away and suffer for a pride they do not deserve. My blood and sweat shall meld into a wrenching stream to drown them and to demonstrate them my everlasting dignity which is even now able to let them perish at any time.

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 26, 2025

As twilight befalls this never ending day, it tints the horizon into an adumbrating red. It seems to reflect my severe wounds but I respire within a cold breeze. I invoke the icy winds to sweep upon my desecrated countenance. They shall be the remedy from northern domains to re-engender the estimation which I once held. Their irascibleness should spill forth the envy in my veins and their unsulled hands should disperse the germ of the ergot into the furrowed soil. There should be bred the discord which would be spread like a wildfire.

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 26, 2025

Swords are glistening in the winter sun which were forged on the anvil of spite. Turbid reflections are craving for vengeance. An idyllic shroud of snow is trampled down by scorching hooves. Behind visors there are glowing resolved eyes. Screams are hurtling through the fields, on which they are embattling for the slaughter. The horde is poised for the final assault. Horns are announcing the declaration of a war which should last until all is erased. Banners of the only true dark force should waft on the lances on which the impaled fallen surrender. Fight for your kingdom. Fight for your dominion. Subdue those undeserving ones to relieve from the chains of slavery.

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025

Swords are glistening in the winter sun which were forged on the anvil of spite.

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 26, 2025